As If The Sea Should Part
by Das Lieblingsfach
Summary: AWE, revised. Jack escaped before being eaten by the Kraken and is taken prisoner by Sao Feng. Meanwhile, Norrington plans a coup in Port Royal to overthrow Beckett. Sequel to "Where Sea Winds Blow" Norrington/Anamaria, Willabeth, Jack/OC
1. Prologue

_As If The Sea Should Part _

_Prologue _

A/N- So, to summarize, this is a sequel to _Where Sea Winds Blow _and sort of wish fulfillment on my part (what I would have liked to see happen in AWE, because I felt it was a disappointment, for the most part). If you felt that way, or want to read someone else's idea of what would have been a satisfying movie, this story will probably not disappoint. I hope. Yes, I realize that this is the title of an Emily Dickinson novel. Truth be told, I have not yet thought of a proper title and for the time being, I have stolen this one. I believe it to be tentative at best, I just wanted to avoid leaving this story "Untitled" until I could come up with something.

Secondly, please know that any mention of race relations/prejudices are in the interest of being historically accurate only and _are not my own opinions. _I had tried to avoid this issue but considering that the time period I'm writing within is the early 18th century, I figured it could only be held off for so long. I don't expect this to cause in problems, but just in case someone interprets them the wrong way, know that I am by no means condoning racism or closed-minded beliefs.

Also, I wanted to mention that there is a plot retold in here that I took from one of the POTC graphic novels. I haven't ever actually read this particular novel, but the plot device was intriguing to me, so I chose to borrow it for this chapter. Please know that this is my own interpretation of a summary and not a word-for-word retelling of those comic pages.

* * *

It had been horribly cloudy and humid that day. Many of the men suspected they'd run into a patch of bad weather, but Admiral Norrington would be damned if he didn't catch the man he set out to pursue because of a batch of dark clouds.

He'd told his young son this would be the day they'd catch a pirate and he wanted him to be present for it. He wanted James to see the vile, ruthless, and immoral heathens with his own two eyes.

"You and I, James, are going to catch and hang an infamous pirate Captain," Lawrence Norrington had told his young son that morning before departure. "And you will understand why it is imperative that you carry on the tradition in my stead."

James Norrington needed no experiential encouragement. For as long as he could recall, he'd been anticipating the day his father would take him along on an expedition at sea. He could think of no other man he wanted to be more like than Lawrence, and at ten years old, his training had begun. He'd grow up to be a stalwart, pirate-slaying Admiral of the British Royal Navy just like his dad.

The expedition hadn't gotten very far under way before the crew's weather predictions began to come true. A hideous, powerful wind began to rock the ship off course and torrential rain blinded most of the sailors from seeing an inch in front of them. Certainly, this would cast a pall on the highly awaited capture, if not ruin it completely.

He didn't quite remember how or when, but somewhere between the lookout announcing the sudden appearance of _The Misty Lady _and the crew running about feverishly, he fell. He had somehow toppled over the side of the ship and splashed below into the churning, murky, salt-ridden water. He was cold, and most of all, more scared than he would ever be again in his life.

His father realized immediately, shouting out commands to his crew.

"That's my son!" he continuously reminded, as if it would somehow make the effort to fetch him more successful. "That's _my _son!"

Ropes were thrown, but because the waves continued to pull James farther and farther away from the ship, the attempt eventually became futile.

Worst of all, he had not yet learned to swim. He splashed and kicked in the water vehemently, hoping that panicked, restless movements would somehow substitute. At the very least, he was staying afloat, but the fact remained that the motion of the sea was sucking him farther out.

Lightning flashed, thunder bellowed.

James began to cry. He knew it was babyish and weak of him, but he was so very frightened and he didn't know what else to do. His father's face was beginning to blur as the distance between them became even greater and the tears in his eyes mixed with the rain.

"_Help!" _he cried out as loud as his swollen windpipes would allow. "_Please help me!_"

It was around the time he had decided he would die, when an arm wrapped itself around his chest and shoulder, like a gun strap. It felt strong and thick, not unlike his father's, and was accompanied by a strong, metallic, musky scent that James would later realize was a mixture of alcohol and tobacco.

The body that held him began to propel them surprisingly fast through the water, back towards his father's ship.

"There, there now, lad," the masculine voice of his savior coaxed. "You're safe, now. We'll get yeh' back to dear ol' dad in no time…"

James was not yet in a position to see the face of the man who was saving him, but he allowed the voice to let him relax, nonetheless. There was something melodiously comforting about its tenor, almost as if it had spoken to a young child with the intent to calm before. He could nearly liken its effect to that of his mother's when she would sing him to sleep.

The weight of the world seemed to drop from his shoulders, even as the chaos of battle and storm continued to rage on around him. He could not remember what it was the man had said as he swam them back, but he _had _continued to talk. It was the tone that James would remember, the tone that would help him fall asleep on anxious nights, even to adulthood. For a brief, blissful period of time, it seemed as if the nightmare had ended.

But unbeknownst to him at the time, it had barely begun.

When they arrived back at the ship, his father met them almost immediately. Lawrence greeted James' eyes with an uncharacteristic look of joy and relief at his son's seemingly impossible survival. But when he caught a glimpse of that man that had carried James to safety, this expression was replaced abruptly by one of horror and disgust.

The crewman seemed overjoyed, however, and when James had been properly hoisted on deck, Admiral Norrington allowed the men to bring his son's rescuer on to the ship, as well.

"Captain Teague," his father had greeted the man curtly.

James was surprised at this revelation as well, but had figured his father might undergo a change of heart. James certainly had. After all, how horrible could Captain Teague have _really _been if he had saved him? Surely the pirate his father had spoken so coarsely of couldn't have been this man. Perhaps there was a misunderstanding?

Captain Teague proceeded to bow graciously, greeting James' father with a very genteel, "Admiral Norrington, sir."

"I suppose you want something in return?" Lawrence presumed through gritted teeth. "A _pardon, _perhaps? A surrender from my fleet?"

Captain Teague chuckled, which apparently made Lawrence even more infuriated.

"Nah, nah, good sir. I'm just as willin' as you are to carry on wif' it. I didn't save your son fer any kind of leverage. I've got a boy of me own, you see-"

"Yes, well," Lawrence interrupted. "I can't very well take a man into captivity the same day he rescues my issue."

After a brief exchange of a few more words, Captain Teague was released to return to his ship and his father ordered a turn around to port. As for James, he was dragged by the forearm into his father's quarters where he was told to remain for the remainder of the voyage.

"Father, I don't understand!" James exclaimed before Lawrence could slip back out onto the deck. "He _saved _me! Maybe he isn't as awful as we thoug-"

His sentence was interrupted by the hard smack of an open palm against his cheek, the force of which caused him to stumble backwards. Lawrence gripped him by the upper arm and jerked him forwards to look him in the eye. The tears that had before been soothed away by Captain Teague began to return.

"You listen to me, boy," Lawrence growled. "I would have rather seen my son _dead_ than indebted to a pirate, much less _Captain Teague. _Do you understand me?"

James could only nod.

This seemed sufficient for his father, as he was suddenly released to fall back onto the office floor. When Lawrence disappeared, slamming the door behind him, James found a corner of the room to crawl into and weep.

When they'd return home, his father would neglect to speak to him for a year and a half. He'd never fully forgive James for what occurred that night, even when he'd join the Royal Navy and progress quickly through the ranks.

In Lawrence's final hours, on his deathbed, he'd refuse James in as one of the last to see him. He'd ask the eldest of James' sisters, Josephine, to,

"Remind him to whom he is still indebted. Perhaps then, he will understand why I can't look him in the eye as I leave this world."

James would immediately accept a naval position in Port Royal, Jamaica. He'd leave as soon as possible with Governor Swann and his family, vowing never to return to England. He hoped leaving the old world behind would help him to erase the nightmares.

And it did, for a while. It was now that he'd become Admiral Norrington that he couldn't seem to shake the ghosts of the past long enough to get a decent night's sleep.

* * *

He was up again with the same visions.

The same pair of glacial, stone grey eyes would appear in every nightmare, starring accusative daggers into his soul. He swore it was the spirit of Lawrence coming to exact some kind of misplaced revenge.

Gin and his window looking out onto the Port were the only comforts left to him on restless nights, which were becoming more and more frequent as time passed. He had stopped hoping for the sense of contentment and completion that he knew he'd feel when he returned to glory at Port Royal. It wasn't coming.

There were many issues at hand preventing it, the most prevalent of those being that he was now _Admiral Norrington. _His father was the last man who'd been referred to as such. He cringed every time someone would call him by the full title. To make matters worse, he'd begun to realize his growing resemblance to Lawrence as he got older. The blue irises he'd inherited from his mother that used to shine in a cerulean brilliance had begun a rapid fading. They were now almost grey.

His face had began to wrinkle and sag in the same places. He was horrified a few days prior when he accidently caught a glimpse of his reflection in full uniform. For a split second, he thought he'd been joined by the ghost of his father. When he looked again after realizing it was merely himself, he had a difficult time pointing out the differences between the two.

He blamed this sudden, rapid physical degeneration on the fact that he had returned. A part of him had begun to realize that coming back was a huge mistake, but another part reminded him he had no choice. This was his destiny, the only light in a collapsing tunnel.

But was it, really? Slowly morphing into his father was his _destiny_? That couldn't have been his fate.

Could it?

He also hated Beckett. He supposed he should have realized this back when he was plotting his _grand _ascension, but he remembered how occupied he was with himself at the time and how successful it was at distracting him from the hard facts.

Over time, Cutler Beckett had revealed himself to be much more than the spoiled, entitled son of a Duke James had grown up with. He was a genius of evil intent and harbored absolutely no concern for his enemies. He was absent a soul, that much James was sure of. Being a crucial part of Beckett's cruel schemes made him feel ill at ease. There was something so indescribably _wrong _with it all, even if it was, ultimately, for the cause he'd been bred to stand for- the abolition of piracy.

But it was around this time that he was forced to remind himself where his heart currently lay. While his body and mind were in his office and home in Port Royal, his affection remained securely on the person of a certain female pirate, wherever she currently was. A _dark skinned _female pirate, at that. He knew the idea would make Lawrence spin cartwheels in his grave, if he hadn't already.

It brought him back to that evening on the ship, the night he began to have second thoughts about Captain Teague. How could a man so allegedly horrible and evil be so selfless? How could a man so _cruel, _so _unforgiving _be more able to relax a frazzled child than its own mother? How could a woman of _unworthy _color and _sinful _occupation be so deserving of his adoration? Confusing of all how could a man that aligned himself with the Crown and The East India Trading Company be more scheming and merciless than any pirate James had ever encountered?

Port Royal, his former haven from unpleasant memories, had been claimed by a ruthless, satyr of a man. He was not only aiding and abetting the cruelty Cutler Beckett inflicted on the people of Port Royal in the name of _righteousness_, but he had become an active player in the effort to keep Governor Swann, a man he both respected and revered, a helpless pawn in the big scheme of things.

James truly had become Lawrence Norrington. He didn't intend it, but it had fallen into place as easy as clockwork. He had been lying to himself all along, and he now abhorred with every fiber of his being the man he'd become.

How could he possibly redeem himself now? What action was required to absolve him of his former foolishness?

A part of him already knew the answer. He would have to dig to find the proper courage within himself to carry it out.

* * *

He woke up to the sight of six women hovering over him, all of them Malaysian, he presumed, and all of them donned in not but short, black silk robes and slippers.

The sight, itself, was very pleasing and it took him a minute or two to recover from the mere aesthetic ofit to begin to wonder what he was doing here. The last image he could recall was of being caught it a nasty bit of mid-summer, Atlantic weather, when another ship broke into view.

He remembered feeling a bit queasy at the sudden presence, but the memory soon faded to black.

He supposed it wasn't the worst place to find one's self in after blacking out for an extended period of time. He would always take pleasure in a multitude of scantily-clad, exotic women milling around him, even if they did seem hard at work at something on his body that he could neither feel nor pinpoint the location of.

Being the man he was, he decided it might be best to greet his hostesses, which he proceeded to do, very charmingly.

Instead of giggling or blushing, as he had expected, the women began a chain of horrified screams, starting with the woman he initially acknowledged. They all proceeded to speak quickly in their native tongue- Malay, he soon picked up, affirming his theories of their origin- and half of them hastily exited the room.

"Well, at least I know for a fact I'm not dead," he sighed to himself, rolling his eyes up at the ceiling. "This most _assuredly _is not heaven."

When the women that had disappeared not that long ago reappeared in the room with a very sour looking Sao Feng, he began to ponder the possibility of being in hell.

"Jack Sparrow," Sao Feng greeted in his typical, sarcastically pleasant manner. "I suppose I should have expected _you _to wake up from my sedative early."

Jack attempted to rise and prop himself up on his elbows so as to get a better look at his host, but soon discovered that he was more or less paralyzed from the neck down.

"Sedative, eh?"

Sao Feng seemed fairly amused by this.

"Oh no, don't bother trying to move," he warned. "This drug of mine will keep you still for quite some time. And you will perhaps find that this is beneficial for you, as well."

"How do you figure?" Jack felt obligated to ask.

Sao Feng grinned, motioning for one of his female minions to fetch a mirror. This she did, proceeding to place it up beside Jack's upper bicep so that he could get a full view of the gash that resided there. Though it had been partially sewn up and treated at this point, it was still rather horrifying. His grimace made Sao Feng's smile widen.

"So you see, Jack Sparrow, my having saved you has benefited us both."

"I can't see how that's possible," Jack quickly countered. "I mean, I'm _clearly _not dead. The way I figure it, that's the only the prize _the great Sao Feng _would have deemed acceptable for having rescued _dear ol' Jack Sparrow. _And if you _really _think about it, the two somewhat cancel each other out, don't they?"

Sao Feng was visibly annoyed, but such had been Jack's intention.

"There are things much more satisfying than death, Sparrow."

Having said that rather spitefully, Sao Feng mentioned some commands to the women in the same dialect of Malay, before leaving with all but one of them who stayed behind to finish sewing Jack's wound.

Though Jack knew it'd be most prudent to ponder Sao Feng's hidden agenda, he found his attention had been stolen by the female that at sat at his right, working diligently on closing the wound with a needle and thread. He knew he'd be dissatisfied if he didn't seduce or charm at least one of Sao Feng's beauties, so he turned his head to grin at her.

"Apa khabar, love?"

She tried to hide a smile in pursed lips, but both she and Jack soon discovered this was impossible.

* * *

It had been Barbossa's idea to go back to Port Royal.

Because Barbossa was now their Captain -whether they liked it or not- and no one who wanted to keep their head ever protested Barbossa's ideas, they were headed back to Port Royal to commandeer a proper ship and get Jack's location out of Cutler Beckett.

Admittedly, it was a somewhat flawed scheme, but it was all they had. Elizabeth volunteered to be the one to pay Beckett a visit at gunpoint, which seemed fitting since he had more to offer her than anyone else on the crew, and Tia Dalma gave them a second dingy with which to carry the rest of the crew from the marshland to Port.

With a crew of eleven, two longboats, and three days of sea travel ahead of them, many might have given up right then and there in Tia Dalma's shack. But it was Barbossa that informed them the Brethren Court had been called to convene, making the effort to retrieve Jack all the more imperative. Every one of them knew their obligation to the court could not be outrun, so they consented to work with what little had been given to them to achieve their goal.

Before they left, Anamaria felt compelled to approach Tia Dalma. She convinced herself it was out of concern for Alexander, who didn't seem to be getting any better, yet, there was another question nagging at the back of her mind that she hesitated to acknowledge.

"I was wondering," Anamaria muttered to Tia Dalma after most of the crew had left the shack. "…perhaps you can help us, in some way. We have a very ill man on our crew who hasn't shown any sign of recovery. I fear the worst for him. Might you be able to help him?"

Tia Dalma nodded slowly.

"Iah can. But dis would require me to join your crew. Iah'm not sure Iah want to make dat commitment."

"Please," Anamaria pleaded, lifting the curtain from the window they faced so that Tia Dalma could see Alexander Whitting. "He's suffering. I don't know what to do."

The other woman hesitated for a moment, as if in thought.

"Perhaps, yeh' can owe me, den. One favor."

Anamaria nodded, smiling widely. "Yes, that sounds fair."

Before Tia Dalma could leave to begin gathering her things, Anamaria touched her upper arm.

"I have one more question…" she whispered, uneasily.

Tia Dalma grinned, knowingly.

"James Norrington is still alive. Yeh' needn't worry."

She then continued her trek to the back bedroom, leaving Anamaria to ponder this inexplicable occurrence with a hanging jaw.


	2. Rebels and Dignitaries

A/N- Yaayy, chapter two! I told you guys I'd update this story, didn't I? =D

I'm really excited so far with the reception this story has been getting. I'm glad so many of you have enjoyed it, added it to your alert list, reviewed, etc. Like I've said, I will finish this story eventually. That's a promise. =)

Also, I'd like to advise everyone to read 'Where Sea Winds Blow' before attempting this one. 'Sea Winds' covers this AU's version of Dead Man's Chest and this one, of course, covers At World's End. Some of the plot points may not make a whole lot of sense to you if you haven't read the preliminary story. I think if you're enjoying this one, you'll like 'Sea Winds', too (hopefully).

I'm beginning to think this will be the start of yet another longwinded story, as I was going over the plot outline of At World's End just last night and I realized how long and involved it is. On top of that, I'm trying to adapt it to fit the plot devices I've come up with and so on and so forth. Since I want to avoid making chapters longer than War and Peace, I'll probably end up with 20-something by the time all is said and done (which, to me, seems gratuitous, but not if the story is worth it. I'm hoping to make mine worth the time spent).

Also, Jack's sub-plot will return in the next chapter, for those who are interested. Try not to miss him too much ;D!

* * *

The weather was calm and pleasant for the day and a half it took them to reach Port Royal. The sun wasn't too overbearing, as they were every so often given a respite of lingering clouds, and the wind remained at a steady speed.

It seemed a rather positive omen, as did Alexander's gradually increasing health from the aid of Tia Dalma. She lingered over him the entire day on the first part of their voyage, murmuring unintelligible rhymes and incantations into his ear. Anamaria would sometimes notice her usage of different herbs from a satchel she kept around her waist. She observed as they were used in different ways, such as spreading a mixture with oil on Alexander's chest or waving a sprig to and fro beneath his nose. The three others who occupied the same boat- Pintel, Ragetti, and Cotton- would also observe her practices with a certain level of discomfort. When Tia Dalma would look up from her work, for whatever reason, all four would quickly avert their eyes in the hope that she hadn't seen them staring.

Regardless of how strange or foreign these methods seemed to be, they were effective in curing Alexander of his illness. By the morning of the second day, his fever had disappeared, the color in his face had returned, and he seemed alert enough to fully realize that an Obeah woman had been practicing her craft on him. Though he was noticeably perturbed, he didn't argue or refuse Tia Dalma's final treatments, perhaps having also realized that it was this foreign _witchcraft _that had cured him in the first place.

Elizabeth was the first to observe, out loud, that Captain Whitting was looking much better. This provided some mutual enjoyment from the crew of two longboats as everyone proceeded to commend his recovery.

"Good on 'yeh, mate," Pintel had said. "It'll be a might useful to keep yer' pair o' arms aboard."

"Yeah, and now we won't have to go to no trouble to dispose of a body!" Ragetti added.

Barbossa mentioned his gratitude that Alexander's extensive knowledge of the Port Royal ships would still be at their disposal. Alexander had to ask why this would be of any importance and Elizabeth was forced to explain, in the most persuasive way she could, the intended plan.

"Absolutely not!" he had exclaimed, nearly toppling the longboat. "It's one thing to sail in the company of pirates, another _entirely _to aid them in their malfeasance! I will _not _be a partied to this!"

Barbossa wasted no time in taking out his pistol, pointing it directly at Alexander Whitting's head, and cocking the barrel.

"Then I suppose yer' of no more use to us, are yeh', former Captain?"

Instead of immediately apologizing and consenting to abide by his role in the scheme, Alexander rolled his shoulders back and stuck his chest out in a display of courageous refusal.

"_Sir, _I decline to play a part in your treacherous activity. I would rather be dead at the bottom of the ocean than abet a band of pirates."

Elizabeth then lunged for Barbossa's shoulder, gripping it somewhat desperately as she begged him not to shoot.

"_Please, _you have to understand," she whispered through gritted teeth in the hope that Alexander wouldn't hear. "He's just trying to make a point. Please, let me explain things to him…"

Barbossa seemed less than willing to spare what he saw as dead weight, as well as somewhat uninterested in Elizabeth's pleas. It was Tia Dalma, however, who moved protectively in front of Captain Whitting and shot Barbossa a warning glare.

"Yeh will not harm him…"

This seemed convincing enough, as Barbossa proceeded to grudgingly lower and stow away his piece. He then turned to Elizabeth who still remained attached to his side.

"Yeh'd better hope you're as persuasive as you are a nuisance, Miss Swann" he warned bitterly. "For yer friend's sake as well as yer own."

Elizabeth was obviously offended, and William was clearly struggling to subdue a need to attack Barbossa. She nodded at him, as if to communicate that their Captain's forwardness should be overlooked. This caused him to grudgingly recoil back into the side of the longboat and refocus his gaze on the horizon, continuing to fume silently.

Elizabeth then cautiously stepped from the boat she shared with Barbossa, Will, Gibbs, and Marty, and into the already over-crowded one that housed the rest of the crew, including Alexander. The small craft shook a bit dangerously as she precariously added her own weight, however miniscule, and inched in a space between Cotton and Alexander to sit.

She talked to him in near whispers, and between her lowered volume and the rhythmic roaring of the waves beneath them, it was very difficult for the eavesdroppers around her to discern any definite words. Even Alexander's repeated exclaims of,

"_No, I won't!" _or _"Miss Swann, I refuse!" _were vague at best and thusly inconclusive.

It was when Elizabeth said something about her father in a tone that was considerably more pleading than before and Alexander proceeded to sigh and slump downwards, that Anamaria was able to gather what had occurred. She had to admit, Elizabeth's tactic was a clever one. Even more remarkable was the fact that she hadn't even been forced to lie.

* * *

The designated meeting spot was a strategically placed cove. It was located down a good stretch of beach from the docks and was completely out of Port Royal's sight.

The location was significant, as their times of assembly were also their alleged hours of naval practice with the ships. If sought after, it would be expected to find them in the general vicinity of the ships. It was also vital that their true activities be hidden, lest Cutler Beckett's suspicions be suddenly aroused and he felt prompted to do some long-distance surveillance.

As a deterrent, James had arranged for a select few of them to go out every night and continue the training procedures for the evening, as though everything were the same. The exact men chosen would be rotated and changed from meeting to meeting so that everyone would get a chance to hear the latest information. Once the private congregation had finished, the lot of them would discreetly exit the cove and disperse through the jungle, entering back into Port Royal and towards the dock at intervals, from different directions, and in varied numbers. This was also done to avoid seeming suspicious to select individuals, particularly Mercer.

In addition to this, a group of three was chosen every night to act as look-outs. One would be located directly in front of the cove, the second, in the crow's nest of the ship that would remain closest to the dock, and the third, on the docks themselves. If someone of importance was seen approaching, the dock lookout would issue a private signal to the man in the crow's nest. The man in the crow's nest would then repeat his signal to the one in front of the cove whose duty it was then to alert James. From here, James would dismiss the meeting and put the dispersion plan into effect immediately, relying solely on fate to return him to the dock in sufficient time. For this reason, it was also the duty of the dock lookout to keep the approaching person distracted as long as the Admiral needed.

Ever since it had been devised and put into effect, this plan had faired very well. James Norrington and the remainder of the Royal Navy, all of whom had agreed to be a part of his plan to overthrow Beckett and return Governor Swann to his former position of authority, had experienced no problems whatsoever with their secret rendezvous and Beckett, nor Mercer, had suspected anything, so far as they were aware. This didn't very wall calm James' nerves, as he felt it was only a matter of time before his effort hit a significant snag. The whole process had been suspiciously easy, after all, especially considering the immensity. For this reason, he tried not to get too comfortable or head-strong. If his past had taught him anything, it was when a person reached this point that matters became the most horrendous.

It was on this particular night that Theodore Groves, the Lieutenant immediately under James in rank, informed them that he was having overwhelming success in recruiting civilians for the cause.

"It's wonderful how many of them are willing," Theodore added enthusiastically. "Especially considering the amount of danger involved."

James nodded, relieved at the good news but not in the least bit surprised.

"As long as Beckett is in charge, they're all as good as doomed. I'm sure risking their lives in a struggle for peace seems a lot more attractive than resigning them to the gallows."

"This is true." Theodore agreed.

"Have you considered arranging a civilian sub-force for the cause? If not, I think we should make definite strides in that direction." James encouraged.

"I have not," Theodore admitted. "But you're right, Admiral. I'll get that project underway as soon as possible."

"What about a leader of said force?" Lieutenant Gillette asked. "Should it not be one of us that leads them in your stead?"

James shook his head, despite being somewhat reluctant to disagree with his second Lieutenant.  
It had taken some effort to convince Gillette that Beckett was a negative authority figure and that his overwhelming allegiance was better given to Admiral Norrington and Governor Swann.

"I think it would be best if we eventually appoint another civilian to act as leader. In the meantime, however, perhaps you wouldn't mind assisting Groves in training and preparing them? I will also need your skilled minds to then elect one of them as head of the group."

Gillette seemed to be sufficiently pacified by this offer, though somewhat disappointed. It was still more faith than Beckett had ever invested in him.

It was at this moment that James' worst fears finally came true. In the past few months that the officers had been convening, they had yet to be even interrupted with a warning by the outside lookout- until now.

Murtogg, who was the chosen marine on duty for the night, came running from his hidden perch in some nearby jungle foliage.

"Admiral Norrington, sir, they've just given the signal!" he announced, somewhat out of breath.

James' heart leapt into his throat, though he strived to make his outward appearance seem calm.

"Alright, men, the meeting is over for the night. You're all hereby dismissed to assume the escape procedure. As we practiced, you know the routes. With haste, men, if you please!" he whispered urgently.

The crowd of officers then did as they were told, filing one-by-one silently out of the cove and into the surrounding jungle. James then rolled his sleeves back down and donned his discarded hat and coat before setting off down the beach as casually as possible. He had to make sure his overwhelming fear didn't make itself apparent in his demeanor, so as he continued his stroll towards the docks, he tried to focus his thoughts on more pleasant subject matter.

He imagined that he was not alone at the moment, but instead with Anamaria. He imagined that she had appeared suddenly out of the trees, much like that evening on Isla Cruces, and greeted him warmly with a lingering kiss. He imagined that they continued the walk together, arm-in-arm perhaps, and that she regaled him with stories of her present life on the sea.

'_Where have I sailed recently, you ask? La Nouvelle-Orléans! Can you believe that, James? I don't suppose you've ever been there…'she'd tease._

'_No, I haven't.' He would admit with a sarcastic sigh._

'_Well, it's beautiful and certainly different from anything out here. I must take you there.'_

'_I'd go with you now, Ana, if you'd have me.'_

'_I will! Let's leave this place, James, just us two.'_

They would then leave alone on a merchant vessel Anamaria had pinched. They would set off in the general direction of anywhere, leaving Port Royal and the remainder of their past behind them. Their ultimate goal would be to start their lives anew, nothing more or less. The most they would expect of one another is to be the closest of friends forever, and this would be neither difficult nor lofty for either one of them.

The fantasy was pleasant enough to make James seem more relaxed than he really was. He tried his hardest to keep a hold of it even as he caught of glimpse of the approaching offender- Mercer, of all people. Unsettlingly, the man's sharp, hawk-like eyes were fixated unflinchingly on him, even as Mullroy, the dock lookout, talked to him nonstop about something inaudible to James.

"That will do, Mr. Mullroy," James interrupted as he approached the scene on the dock. When Mullroy looked at him, James could see the amount of fear in his watery blue eyes. The visible sheen of sweat on his brow also stood as incriminating evidence.

"Admiral Norrington," Mercer addressed with false pleasantry. "You were missed from your post…"

"I _was_ at my post, Mr. Mercer," James corrected him. "I had gone down the length of the beach for a moment to gain a more distant perspective on the naval patterns."

Mercer did not seem entirely convinced.

"That's a likely story, Admiral," he replied sardonically.

"Then I doubt you'll find any error with it. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Mercer smiled from the corner of his mouth.

"Not at all," he said simply. "I was simply supervising at the request of Lord Beckett. You may carry on, then."

As Mercer turned around to head back towards his quarters for the evening, James allowed his eyes to roll slightly.

"I appreciate it, Mr. Mercer," he lied.


End file.
